“I need you to be my fiancé.”
2
JILL’S WORDS registered and hung between them, dimming the brightness of his angel’s halo. Fool’s gold, he thought. And he was an even bigger fool for allowing himself to feel desperate enough that he was seriously considering her outrageous proposal. “You’re kidding, right?”
She bit her bottom lip and shook her head slowly. “It’s really a very long and boring story,” she said, leaning over to pull a yellow pad from her briefcase. She slipped the cap off an expensive pen. “Let’s start with the charges against your employee. What’s his name?”
“Eddie Burton,” he said, then shook his head. “But I haven’t agreed yet.”
Delicately arched golden brows shot up and her big blue eyes rounded in surprise. “But I thought you needed an attorney?”
“At the cost of selling my soul to get one?” he countered dryly. He didn’t have a choice. Of course he’d do whatever she asked, even if it meant he did have to sell his soul to keep the MasCon contracts. When the guys had come into the shop earlier that evening, he’d promised them he’d look out for Eddie so long as they showed up for work the next morning.
Confidence and amusement mingled within the depths of her gaze. Only the quick, rhythmic drumming of her long slender fingers against the legal pad betrayed her nervousness. He found her slight case of anxiety endearing.
“I’m not asking for your soul, Mr. Pr—Morgan. You’re not really going to be my fiancé, just provide a convincing facsimile. Your time in exchange for competent legal representation. Seems like a fair trade to me.”
He wasn’t so sure. Time away from the company could cost him a lot more than shelling out a few bucks for a lawyer. Not that spending a few days with her would be a hardship. Quite the opposite, considering his immediate physical reaction when he’d found her on his doorstep.
Therein lay his problem. He was attracted to her, damn attracted when he couldn’t afford the distraction, no matter how much awareness rumbled through him whenever she flashed those baby blues his way.
He propped his feet on the edge of the old coffee table and leaned back into the love seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let’s assume I agree to do this. What exactly are you expecting?”
She set the pad and pen on the table, wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward. “We need to be a real couple, one convincing enough that my family doesn’t become suspicious.”
The ramifications of that statement slammed into him. His imagination tripped through a few dozen ways he’d like to be coupled with her. “Mind telling me why?” he asked, attempting to focus on the conversation and not what she’d look like with her hair down and those delicate hands moving over his body.
Her gaze shifted toward the fireplace, then back again. When she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a despair that nearly had him coming off his seat to offer her comfort.
Not a good sign, he thought with a frown. The last thing he needed to do was get involved with a woman, no matter how enticing. Between running the company, the problems on the MasCon job, and taking care of his kid brother and sister, his cup runneth over.
A light blush stained her cheeks. “So they won’t know I’ve been lying to them for the last seven months,” she said quietly.
“Isn’t that just a little unethical, even for a lawyer?”
She gave him a wry grin. “I take it you haven’t heard that lawyers are notorious for twisting the truth,” she said with a quirk of her pink mouth. “Let’s just say I’m trying to avoid a complication at home. Your presence will go a long way in helping me achieve that goal.”
His frown deepened. “Complication how?”
She blew out a stream of breath that ruffled her wispy honey-gold bangs. “I’m not a bad person,” she said, a note of defiance in her tone. “I never meant to lie to my family. It was just easier to let them believe there was someone important in my life. I’m a preacher’s daughter, which probably means I’ll have to spend eternity somewhere hot and sweaty for lying to them. I’m also the first and only Cassidy to ever leave the family fold for the ‘wickedness of greener pastures,’ as my father says. Another one of my many sins, I’m sure.
“I’m nothing like my sisters,” she added, making him wonder if this was another black mark against her. Her words painted a picture of a stern, fire-and-brimstone preacher, more condemning than forgiving.
“That’s not so unusual in families,” he offered. His sister and brother were more like their intellectual father, while Morgan preferred to work with his hands. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, considering the three of them were raised by the same absentee mother. As much as he’d resented his mother’s choice of a career over her children when he was growing up, at least he’d inherited her work ethic.
“I’m the sixth of seven daughters, all married except Carly, who’s changing her marital status in three weeks.” She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, drawing his gaze to her legs. Legs that had his hands itching, wanting to see if they were as silky smooth as they looked.
“I’m also the only one unattached, serious or otherwise. That alone is an even greater sin according to the residents of Homer,” she added, a rueful smile lurking around her mouth when he looked at her again. “My family has been trying to convince me to return to the fold and exchange my career for a husband and my briefcase for a diaper bag. That’s not who I am.”
Maybe if you took a little more interest—
That’s not who I am.
He shut down the memory before it had a chance to fully surface. He had more immediate concerns than dwelling on a past he couldn’t change.
“You haven’t thought of telling them what you just told me?” he suggested.
“I’ve tried. I thought I was making progress until my sister Alison married a year ago. The pressure really started then, but since Carly’s gotten engaged, it’s been unbelievable. My father is determined to see each of his daughters married to a ‘respectable pillar of the community,”’ she said, her last words spoken in a mock baritone.
Jill as a rebellious teen, anxious to spread her wings and experience life on her own terms, wasn’t difficult to imagine. She had a quick, witty sense of humor, something her fire-and-brimstone father no doubt resented and attempted to oppress.
“What about your mother?” he asked, sensing there was a softer influence somewhere in her past. When he’d been in her office that afternoon venting his frustration on his friend, he’d seen a compassion in her gaze that was unfeigned.
“My mother wouldn’t dare offer an opinion contrary to Dad,” she said, a hint of distaste in her voice. “She’s so…1950s.”
“You need to tell them how you feel.”
Her expression lined with worry, and she smoothed her hands over her skirt again. “It’s not that easy. When I went home for Ali’s wedding, all I heard about was how my sisters were all living good, respectable lives. I, on the other hand, am probably seen as one step away from damnation for my wicked, independent ways.”
He’d been having some pretty wicked thoughts himself, from the moment he’d first caught a glimpse of her. Against his will, she’d drifted in and out of his thoughts for the better part of the afternoon. Now that she was seated across from him, the wickedness had escalated to erotic proportions. His angel had propositioned him and he was powerless to resist, thanks to his latest battle with the alligators nipping at his heels. By asking him to pretend to be in love with her, she’d innocently created a dangerous situation. As far as he was concerned, shifting the pretense of lust into passionate reality held enormous appeal, something he wasn’t altogether certain the independent lady lawyer would